


Double D: Darcy Drabbles

by Zephrbabe



Category: Captain America (Movies), Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Caught in the Rain, Cuddling & Snuggling, Darcy Lewis is the fandom bicycle and I love it, Dominance Displays, Elder of the Universe!Darcy, F/M, Feels, Gen, Hospitals, Lab Shenanigans, Literal Dumpster Diver Clint Barton, Long-Range Rifle, Mad Science, Meet-Cute, Multi, Peter Quill has commitment issues, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Romance, SHIP DARCY WITH ALL THE THINGS, Snark, Time Travel, Werewolf AU, Werewolf!Darcy, burn victim, driver!Darcy, food in strange places, high!Steve, imminent labor, sniper!Darcy, the Upstate Facility is the new Avengers Tower, triple agent!Brock Rumlow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2018-12-16 03:56:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 7,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11820726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zephrbabe/pseuds/Zephrbabe
Summary: Drabbles featuring Darcy Lewis that didn't fit anywhere else!





	1. Ivy

“I could help with that,” she said, running the tip of her finger over his throat where he’d already undone the collar of the uniform. Her milky blue eyes were dark and unwavering.

And she  _could_  help, but would he survive it?

Every unfastened collar, every chink in the armor, every crack in his heart, she found. She found every weakness and inserted herself like ivy, pushing the vulnerability wider and placing herself protectively in front. She had no idea she was doing it.

It would be so easy to let her help. She wanted to, and, god, he wanted to let her.

He knew, though, what happened when ivy was torn away: when the damage was exposed and unsupported by the living material, a building could disintegrate.

If he let her help, he knew that by the time she left or was taken away, he’d be too weak to mask the damage. He’d never be able to pretend her absence hadn’t left him cracked and crumbling.

A soft palm slid over his jaw, her thumb ghosting over a bruise on his cheekbone. “I can help. Will you let me?”

He licked his lips, and she mirrored him, never looking away.

“Yes.”


	2. Drabble-a-Thon Day 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Fuck Yeah Darcy Lewis Drabble-a-Thon
> 
> The day's prompt: Slow Down  
> The day's song: “Good Girls” by Elle King (from Ghostbusters)  
> The day's charity: [Planned Parenthood!](https://www.plannedparenthood.org/)
> 
> 3 (unrelated) times Darcy drove like a bat outta hell, and one time she didn’t:

“Jesus fuck, Lewis, slow down!”

Darcy wrenched the park brake and yanked on the wheel, sending them around a sharp turn and into a medieval alley that a modern car rightly should never attempt to fit through. The side mirrors scraped off.

“Why?” She glanced at Clint. His hands were splayed and braced on the dash.

“Because I would like not to die.”

Her jaw clattered as they sailed over cobblestones.

“If I slow down, and those assholes catch us up, what do  _you_   _think_  will happen?”

–

“Come with me if you want to live.”

Jane peered into the low passenger window and sighed.

“Darcy, you know you’re just driving me to the airport, right?”

“Yeah, but in this baby, it’s more fun to imagine I’m in an action movie.”

The vehicle was sleek, black, and rumbled like a contented god. Even Jane, who was only ever interested in getting from Point A to Point B, was impressed.

She hefted her duffel into the passenger well and climbed down into the car. “Your  _life_  is an action movie.”

“I know, right? It’s great!” Darcy grinned at her and peeled out.

–

“In two hundred yards, slight left to remain on-”

“YES I KNOW,” Darcy screeched at her navigation. Her body curled forward in pain, and the old Jeep wobbled on the road. In a more measured voice, she said, “Call Steve.”

“Calling Steve…”

He picked up on the first ring. “Darcy?”

“Steve Rogers, you unbelievable son of a bitch, this is  _all your fault_.”

“Oh god, has it started?” He sounded like he was on the move; she recognized the flat echo of boots in the helicarrier’s corridors.

“'Go stay at the  _cabin_ , Darce!’ ‘It’ll be so  _relaxing_ , Darce!’ Relaxing, my ass. I am driving this murdercar on rutted back roads because of you.”

“Are you headed to the hospital?”

“No, Steve. What  _do_  people do when they’re in the ass end of nowhere without their husband and their water just fucking broke?” She may have gotten shrill there; she took several calming breaths, exhaling just as Dr. Cho had instructed.

“I’m on my way to you now.” He was using his Captain America voice, which she was woman enough to admit made her feel a bit better. “The quinjet can be there in thirty minutes.”

“Good.” She grit her teeth against another contraction. “Because I am doing 20 over the limit and I just picked up a cop.”

–

“We’re being followed,” Darcy announced, chewing her lip.

“I know.”

She didn’t dare glance away from the highway at her passenger. He’d calmly gotten into her jalopy as she was leaving “work,” and commanded her to drive. She’d have done it whether he held a gun to her head or not. He hadn’t, so that was something.

“Stay with traffic,” he ordered. “Don’t speed up.”

Darcy eased up on the gas, but couldn’t relax her fingers on the wheel. The stolen USB in her bra was a small, significant weight.

She didn’t know if the black SUV five cars behind them was after her, or after him.

She didn’t know which would be worse.

“Take the next exit, then slow down,” he instructed.

She tried to ignore the sound of his metal hand pulling the slide of his handgun.


	3. Drabble-a-Thon Day 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Fuck Yeah Darcy Lewis Drabble-a-Thon
> 
> The day's prompt: Challenged  
> The day's song: Hard Out Here by Lily Allen  
> The day's charity: [SFSPCA](https://www.sfspca.org/get-involved/donate) (spay and neuter your pets!) 
> 
> I couldn’t fit more exposition without going over the 1K limit, so: this is were!Darcy/Rumlow.

It might’ve been the overcaffeination talking, but Jane observed that every ninety minutes, Darcy stiffened briefly, then returned to her work as though nothing had happened. Darcy spent lunchtime in the cafeteria eyeballing people. Once, Jane caught her sniffing the air; it smelled like steel and ozone to Jane, as usual.

This went on for three days.

Jane was focused on her equations for the modeling software when she overheard a contentious conversation going on at the lab entrance. She was barely listening, even though Darcy wasn’t exactly quiet.

“Dude, are you  _trying_  to invade my territory? Because I’m letting you know that’s a bad idea. Please consider this a cordial invitation to fuck off.”

“Hey, now, sweet cheeks, how was I to know one of the kin was in this facility?”

“Uh, by using your nose like the rest of us?” Darcy scoffed. “It’s not like  _I_  couldn’t tell you’ve been skulking around here for days.”

“It’s my job to keep this place secure, get the lay of the land.”

“The lay of the land is that it’s  _mine_.”

“Are you really trying to intimidate me, little girl?”

A sound that Jane didn’t consciously analyze until much later raised the hair on the back of her neck and diverted her from her work. “Darcy? Where did I put those readouts?”

Darcy had popped back to her side with a toothy grin, and that had been that.

–

Two days later, when Jane stumbled into the lab with four hours’ sleep, Darcy was already there. She was pounding away at a keyboard, eyes trained on the notepad Jane had forked over the day before. Data entry was what Darcy did when stressed. That, and tase people.

“Everything OK, Darcy?”

Darcy growled something under her breath, but aloud said, “Just, um, guy troubles?”

Jane perked up. “Oh! I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”

“I’m not.” Darcy spun away from the computer, and her blue eyes caught Jane’s. “There’s a new guy here who’s sort of stepping on my toes. I’m kinda stressing.”

There were times when Jane was clueless to subtext or anything that wasn’t Einstein-Rosen Bridge-related, but this was not one of those times. “Is he hot?”

Darcy slouched down in her chair until she looked like she was melting out of it, and slapped her hands over her face. “Oh god,  _so_  hot. Just…  _so hot_. Like, your-daddy-warned-you-about-him-but-you-don’t-care hot. He’s got this whole bad boy thing going on, and I am into it. Well, not bad  _boy_ \- bad  _man_ , because Jesus, is he ever.” Her hands fell away from her face. “And that’s part of the problem. He doesn’t respect me, or my position here. He keeps coming around the labs when he knows it bothers me.”

Jane knew about being disrespected in the workplace. She’d been in astrophysics for years, after all. She also knew that Darcy wouldn’t be this frustrated if she hadn’t already exhausted all the polite ways of getting someone to back off.

“You should show him who’s boss.”

Darcy cocked her head. “You think so?”

“Well,” Jane hedged, “you do technically only answer to me unless it’s an emergency. And you are sort of the unofficial queen of the labs.”

The look Darcy gave Jane was full of sharp glee. “I  _am_  the top bitch in the labs, aren’t I?”

Jane laughed- there was the Darcy she knew and tolerated. “Yeah, you just need to channel your top bitchiness into action. He’ll either fall into line or run off with his tail between his legs.”

Darcy laughed, too, and it was full of mayhem. “I like the sound of that.”

–

Jane hoped Darcy asserting herself would work on the toe-stepping guy. It had been a week of Darcy’s odd behavior, and Jane was ready for her to get her head back in the game; Einstein-Rosen Bridges didn’t build themselves.

She didn’t have long to wait: the morning after a sleep-deprived Jane had advised Darcy to act, Jane was nose-deep in some cosmological data when Darcy strolled in.

Jane raised her eyebrows. Darcy had dressed to show off skin, that much was obvious. Her lightning-bolt tank top and cutoff shorts were usually reserved for “outdoorsy fun;” Darcy’s concession to the workplace was an oversized black hoodie that Jane had never seen before. Unzipped, it nearly reached Darcy’s knees.

The lab lighting did a great job of highlighting the wealth of hickeys peppering Darcy’s neck, chest, and exposed décolletage. Jane caught a flash of more, finger-shaped bruises on Darcy’s thighs.

“Sleep well?” Jane asked archly.

Darcy didn’t get a chance to answer, because the lab doors swished open, and Maria Hill swept in with an entourage.

“Dr. Foster, if I could have a moment of your time?”

Jane broke away from her computer with a grumbled, “Of course.”

“Dr. Foster, Ms. Lewis, this is Commander Brock Rumlow. He’s consulting on security at this facility.”

Jane glanced at Darcy, who had locked eyes with the man.

“You may have seen him around this past week,” Hill continued. “He’s been getting a feel for the place.”

“Haven’t had the pleasure, Doc,” he said, sticking his hand out. He briefly dragged his eyes away from Darcy when Jane shook it. His voice was rough when he said, “Ms. Lewis.”

Jane was flicking her eyes between Darcy and the security guy- Rumlow, was it? 

Darcy was locked on as they shook hands, her lips curving in an ever-widening grin. “Pleasure’s  _all mine._ ”

Jane did not miss the mouth-shaped bruises and a flash of a white bandage at the crook of his neck, where his black t-shirt and body armor didn’t cover. Was it her imagination, or did Rumlow slightly tip his chin to expose it?

It was  _not_ her imagination that Darcy’s smile was all teeth.

Weird.


	4. Drabble-a-Thon Day 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Fuck Yeah Darcy Lewis Drabble-a-Thon.
> 
> The day's prompt: Dangerous Territory  
> The day's song: “Bad Girls” by M.I.A.  
> The day's charity: [Wikipedia](https://wikimediafoundation.org/wiki/Ways_to_Give)
> 
> Opening dialogue from [@oopsprompts](https://oopsprompts.tumblr.com/)

“You’re dangerous?” Natasha kept the lilt of her voice light, curious. The innocuous business clothes had been a smart choice this morning; she could pass for any middle-office type, and people let their guard down around their peers.

“Well, yeah, aren’t you?” The young woman across from her spoke from around a french fry, “Everyone here is dangerous in some capacity.”

Natasha smiled at the young woman sitting across from her at the cafeteria table. She was pretty, and clever, and had no idea who Natasha was. Here at the upstate facility, it was unheard-of, and it was refreshing.

And it wouldn’t last long, judging from the way she could feel eyes boring into her back.

“Don’t look now,” Darcy Lewis stage whispered, “but there is a super hot dude checking you out.”

Natasha widened her eyes, and made a show of not turning around. She halted a forkful of pasta halfway to her mouth and said, “Really? What does he look like?”

Darcy bit her lip. “He looks… He looks  _actually_  dangerous. And kinda familiar.”

Natasha laughed. Yasha wouldn’t make a good first impression if he carried on like this. Then again, sassy Ms Lewis seemed to  _like_  dangerous.

Trying to swallow a mouthful of chicken sandwich, Darcy garbled, “He’s coming over!”

Natasha grinned despite herself, but schooled her face into a mild smirk when she could hear Yasha’s boots behind her. He stopped directly to her left, out of lunging distance. His scowl did make him look more dangerous than usual; Darcy would enjoy this.

“ _Natalia, I don’t appreciate your meddling,_ ” he opened, in Russian.

“ _What meddling? I’m having lunch._ ” She took a bite of shrimp, and let him see none of her amusement.

“ _You are having lunch with the one woman in this facility I’ve been-_ ” he cut himself off, and cast his eyes at Darcy, who was pulling a tomato slice out of her sandwich with a moue of displeasure.

“ _Darcy? She’s dangerous, you know._ ” Before he could scoff at that silly introduction, she continued, “ _She once told a Hydra agent, at gunpoint, to ‘suck her cock.’ She penned one of the New York Times’ letters against the Sokovia Accords. And now she has returned here with Dr. Foster, building wormholes. Danger sits with her. And she thinks no one noticed that she stole a set of my Widow’s Bites and carries them in her purse._ ”

Darcy was suddenly choking on a sip of soda, Coke dribbling out her nose. Natasha half-rose from her seat to pound Darcy’s back.

Natasha turned to Bucky with a grin, “And she speaks Russian.”


	5. Drabble-a-Thon Day 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Fuck Yeah Darcy Lewis Drabble-a-Thon
> 
> The day's prompt: Enthusiasm  
> The day's song: Move Like U Stole It by ZZ Ward  
> The day's charity: [The Long Now Foundation](https://longnow.org/support/) (planning for humanity in the long term)

“Peter motherfucking Quill! Long time, no see!”

Quill froze, feeling the blood drain from his face. Groot, on his shoulder, made like a tree.

Under his breath, he said, “Shit,” and did his best to turn around slowly and not make any sudden moves. Pedestrians flowed around them.

Quill was a tall guy, big, strong, and pretty darn handsome, if he said so himself. He’d give it all up not to be faced with the diminutive brunette in front of him. He swallowed; her smile was open and friendly, and a shade of pink that made him want to bend down and kiss her smile away. The red band down her lip and chin was what stopped him.

She was dressed, as always, in an approximation of casual Earth-wear; the bulky, shapeless clothes hid just how lush and curvaceous he knew her body to be. The lighting of the night market flattered the contrast of her richly-hued clothes and her flawless skin. It was her place, so, of course it did.

A pale, black-haired man at her elbow bent to bring his mouth to her ear. His green eyes flicked to Quill, who shivered. His clothing was distinctly Asgardian; Peter had only seen that combination of black and green leather once before, and the memory made him want to shift the collar of his coat to get some air flow.

“Uh, yeah,” Quill said, after realizing he’d been staring like an idiot. “Just passing through, Darcielleñ-”

“Just Darcy,” she chirped. “You know I don’t like to stand on formality, Peter. Why didn’t you stop in to see me?” Fortunately, Quill was saved from answering when the tiny tree-being on his shoulder caught her eye, and she stepped in close.  “Hello! Who’s this?”

“I am Groot.”

“Oh! Well aren’t you a little charmer.” Her smile was radiant. She tossed her head, exposing the creamy softness of her neck. Peter couldn’t stop himself from swallowing down the remembered taste of her skin while she made eyes at Groot. He could feel the heat radiating off her.

A few meters away, a figure armed to the teeth in black said something Quill didn’t understand, but made Darcy step back with a little, knowing smile. Quill was just glad Rocket wasn’t there to make an inappropriate suggestion about the guy’s metal arm. The dude was intimidating enough with the face mask and goggles, and Quill wasn’t exactly in the mood to fight his way out of one’s of  _Darcy_ ’s places.

“When are you gonna come join my harem, Peter? You know you aced the tryouts,” she said with a wink, and then laughed. And didn’t that laugh just make Peter want to sling his arm around her waist and give her a repeat performance.

Instead, he shrugged, and it shifted the weight of the contraband in his pocket. Quill needed that reminder; they had places to be.

Darcy laid a small hand on his arm, and her smiling face turned solemn. “I was sorry to hear about Yondu, Peter. He was always very protective of you.”

“Thanks.” His throat felt like it was closing up, but Peter found it in himself to offer her a tremulous smile.

This,  _this_  was why she was so dangerous: all she seemed to do was care about people, care  _for_ people, and people started to care back. Everyone around her cared for her, would do anything for her, loved her. And as far as Quill could tell, she inspired that kind of love and loyalty by offering it up herself.

They needed to leave, like, yesterday.

Quill could see Gamora cutting a path towards them through the crowds of the marketplace, and his shoulders sagged in relief; rescue was on its way.

He ignored Gamora’s perfect greeting and their respectful discourse. He was thinking about Yondu instead, and also how soon they could make it back to the ship and off the planet.

A rumbling voice at Quill’s back made him jump, “Is this yours?”

Gamora turned, unsurprised, so she was next to Darcy; both women were looking behind Quill with similar expressions of exasperated amusement.

“I ain’t his- I ain’t nobody’s but  _mine_ , ya lug.”

Oh, geez, it was Rocket. They needed to make themselves scarce before the little guy started a war. Quill revolved, dismayed to see the raccoon being dangled by his scruff by a huge, bearded guy in yet more dark body armor. He looked kinda familiar, but most people Quill was familiar with generally tried to shoot him on sight.

This was his opportunity, though. “Hey, it was nice seeing you again, uh, Darcy. We- We’ve got to run.”

Rocket was let loose at Darcy’s nod, and he and Gamora began sauntering in the direction of the  _Milano_.

Peter paused his retreat for a moment, glancing at the woman who could have meant so much to him, and it was all Darcy needed to step in close again, and stretch up to his ear.

“Next time you set foot in one of my markets, Peter Quill, you had best be prepared to pay the fine for dealing in banned items.” Darcy pressed a kiss into his cheek, and Peter’s slight frisson of fear was neatly subverted by the softness of her mouth, and her faint scent.

She stepped back into the space made by her three hulking men, and sent him a lascivious wink as they closed ranks and she disappeared.

–

Weaving through the press of the crowds, Rocket half-skipped after Gamora and asked, “Who was the short broad?” He failed to be nonchalant.

“ _That_  was the Antiquarian, an Elder, and baby sister of Taneleer Tivan. She controls the largest shipping empire in the galaxy. She’s… nice,” Gamora admitted.

“Why’s Quill so afraid of her, then?”

Gamora’s smile was like a knife. “Peter slept with her once. They say she’s very… enthusiastic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: So, uh, the Elders of the Universe are ultra-old beings, like the Collector and Grandmaster, and I took some liberties to make Darcy one of them. I have more headcanon/backstory, but it didn’t fit into the 1K limit. And thanks to [@anais-ninja-blog](anais-ninja-blog.tumblr.com) for her unsurpassed brainstorming abilities!


	6. Drabble-a-Thon Day 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Fuck Yeah Darcy Lewis Drabble-a-Thon
> 
> The day's prompt: Gunshot  
> The day's song: “Whose Side Are You On” Tommee Profitt, Ruelle  
> The day's charity: [Girl Scouts](http://www.girlscouts.org/en/adults/donate.html) (“Be prepared!”)

He’s starting to tense up in his seat. She can read him easily through the scope, and she can see he feels her eye on him.

She’d known this would happen: those who have survived the Red Room have an uncanny sense for when they’re being hunted.

Her plan had had a long timeline, but patience was a virtue she had in spades. Once he’d been brought into the fold, she’d waited for him to settle in with his old friend; it wouldn’t do to start her work too quickly.

First, it had been shy, lingering glances in the common spaces. Then, she’d used flirtation when they passed in the halls, and outside the lab. Weeks later, she had drunkenly confessed her attraction to her friends during a girls’ night. For months, she had dated Stark employees who looked like him. She had baked his favorites “for the team.”

He’d first kissed her when she was crying over a breakup she’d engineered.

He had been sweet to her; said she made him feel like a normal fella. And she did. She had combed her fingers through his hair during movies. She had leered over his prowess in the gym. She had screamed over his prowess in bed.

Her eyes were always on him.

He’d feel her watching, and look up, and they’d grin at each other from across a table or a room. She always had a smile for him, even when her day was otherwise an annoyance.

Now, although he is positioned in the most inconvenient spot- angled away from her and with the worst line of sight possible- she has a clear view of him. He is stuck at a raised table at one of Stark’s brief, dramatic press conferences. They won’t be in there long, but she doesn’t need long.

Her perch had been selected weeks in advance: two blocks away, in the nearest building with an eye line, on a floor that’s been under renovation for months. The floor is cold, and she has been on her belly for fifty seven minutes.

Her window of opportunity is possibly less than a minute before his desire to retreat from her gaze outweighs the propriety of remaining seated.

She’d known this would happen, and she’d planned for it.

Using her off-hand, not looking away from her scope, she taps “send” on her scuffed, sticker-encrusted StarkPhone.

His own immaculate phone vibrates on the empty white tablecloth in front of him.

Steve, next to him, minutely tips his head to read who the message is from, and manages to keep the indulgent smile off his face in front of the press.

 _He_  doesn’t bother; she can see the goofy upturn of his lips in her scope. She feels an answering one on her mouth before she pushes it away.

In the workmen’s cement dust, the phone buzzes with a reply:

> _Love you too, Darcy doll_

She pulls the trigger.


	7. Drabble-a-Thon Day 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Fuck Yeah Darcy Lewis Drabble-a-Thon
> 
> The day's prompt: Umbrella  
> The day's song: “French Suite No. 6 in E, 4. Gavotte” by Johann Sebastian Bach  
> The day's charity: [Blue Star Moms](http://www.bluestarmoms.org/)

“This is a bloody nuisance,” Peggy growled.

“The umbrella or the weather?” Darcy laughed, wringing her skirt onto the parquet. Her hair was half-fallen out of the chignon she wore on base, and dripping strands clung to her neck and sodden jacket; Peggy thought her own couldn’t look much worse.

Peggy threw the decimated umbrella into the waste bin just inside the door. The metal ribs were sheared to hell. The whole thing was beyond repair.

Instead of replying, Peggy pursed her lips and led the way up into their office. Officially, her office. Forward-thinking the SSR may be, but not forward-thinking enough to take in stride a young woman who had stumbled in front of the Howling Commandos’ troop transport in France, babbling about time travel and a “Hime doll.”

Peggy had inducted Darcy into the SSR as her secretary mere hours after a dubious Corporal Dugan had dropped her off at the command tent. Peggy Carter could think on her feet. So could Darcy Lewis, even if she tended to do it out loud and with references to films and such no one had yet heard of.

“What I wouldn’t give for a blow dryer and a Snuggie right about now,” Darcy said under her breath. The squelching of their water-filled shoes in the echoing hall did not cover the comment, but Peggy let it pass. The woman was incredibly tight-lipped about the future, except where she felt her expertise was warranted.

The radiator in the office was, mercifully, working full bore. The Americans certainly knew how to keep their buildings warm, even if the buildings turned over to military offices had been built in such a way that a slight wind turned into a gale between them.

Hence, the demise of the umbrella.

“Tea, Ms. Lewis?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Darcy said, already shucking her jacket.

Darcy could not be trusted to make proper tea, but she had other qualities. Namely, being prepared for almost anything, including being caught in a sudden downpour without a working umbrella.

“Towel?”

“Bless you, Ms. Lewis.” A pristine white towel landed on Peggy’s shoulder as she set the kettle to boil. (No disgusting canteen tea for the women of the SSR!)

Stripping off her own drenched outer layer, Peggy removed her sidearm, and went to lay it on her desk. She set her reserve pistol, in its holster, next to it. The former would need drying, cleaning, and oiling, and the latter would have to wait until she was dry herself.

Darcy turned on the small wireless on her own small desk, and the room filled with the strains of the Light Programme, broadcasting a gavotte of some kind.

As Darcy carried their shoes over to the radiator, which already bore Darcy’s jacket, blouse, and skirt, and Peggy’s jacket, Peggy scrubbed the towel over her arms, and fantasized about a hot bath. As it was, the two women were due to spend the evening analyzing aerial photographs. With any luck, their clothes would be mostly dry by the time they needed to venture back out and find their beds.

Darcy was just reaching up to unpin the rest of her hair when a knock sounded. It was late for most visitors, but before Peggy could deny entry, the door swung open on two clueless behemoths.

Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes were both wet from the rain; it must have been easing, because Barnes was holding an unscathed umbrella. Steve was carrying a dispatch case, likely containing more images for the evening’s work. Though why someone from the command office would send Captain Rogers on a grunt’s errand was a mystery.

It was Barnes’ breathed, “ _Jesus_ ” that brusquely reminded Peggy they were two women in an unintentional state of undress in front of two soldiers- and Americans, to boot.

Darcy was no help in this instance. Her hands were still in her hair, but she was caught under Barnes’ stare. Of course, being Darcy, she was down to her slip and giving Barnes the once-over as though  _he_  were the one practically naked.

Stepping forward, Peggy took the case out of Steve hands, said, “Thank you, Captain,” and with a straight face and a firm grip, closed the door in his face.

The expression on his face, though, when he’d registered that her blouse had been half-unbuttoned and her camisole clinging- that look had a flush creeping up her neck and a smile twitching her lips.

The kettle began to whistle. Darcy’s guffaw was a tad malevolent when backed with the organ music now on the wireless.

They had a long night’s work ahead, in damp clothes, with half a tin of biscuits and rationed tea for company.

But, oh, that look would keep her warm all night.


	8. Drabble-a-Thon Day 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Fuck Yeah Darcy Lewis Drabble-a-Thon
> 
> The day's prompt: Summer Haze  
> The day's charity: [Weed for Good](http://weedforgood.org/) (bringing pot to low-income chronic and terminal patients)
> 
> Can't believe I forgot to post this earlier!

“Steve.  _Steve._ ”

“Hmm?”

“How many brownies did you eat, Steve?”

Steve’s head lolled on the back of the sofa, a soft smile pulling on his lips. Darcy definitely did not stare at that smile, no siree. She didn’t have time for that smile; she needed to be at her High Minded Book Club meeting, like, five minutes ago.

“Those were for book club, dude. They were  _special_  brownies.”

“Mm-hmm.” Steve’s eyes were almost shut, and that stupid, pretty smile was curving up again.

“Fuck my life, did I just get Captain America high?” Darcy mumbled to herself. The brownie pan was empty. Unless she’d missed the assembled Avengers on her way back from the bathroom, Steve Rogers had managed to eat a 9x13” pan of THC-laced double fudge brownies all by himself.

“Mmnope,” came Steve’s lax reply. “Come sit, Darcy.”

Darcy groaned and set the pan back on the cooling rack. She was never making it to book club now, especially since she wasn’t going to be bringing any goodies. She shot a text off to the group members with her apologies, and went to pry Steve out of the sofa, where he appeared to have melted.

She lifted his hand from the arm of the sofa, and, finding no resistance, tugged. It was like trying to yank a piece of rebar out of cement. He wasn’t being pulled anywhere.

“ _You_  are going to medical, and  _I_  am going to hope that I don’t get my citizenship revoked for this.”

“Nope,” Steve said, relaxing a little further into the cushions.

Darcy set her heels and tried to drag 200-plus pounds of dead weight off the sofa.

The dead weight was having none of it: Steve smiled again, slowly enunciated, “Nope,” and dragged her onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her like a toddler with a teddy bear, and conveniently missed that she was a grown woman who had a chronic habit of staring at his mouth. Not to mention drooling over his body and squeeing over how goddamn nice he was.

She could feel that he was so relaxed that it would take almost no effort to climb out of Steve’s arms, but Darcy could admit to herself that she didn’t actually want to.

Arms tightened around her, gathering her in until she had to wriggle her limbs around to get comfortable. Now she was sideways in his lap, head rested on one pillowy pec. Darcy had wedged one hand under his shoulder blade, and her other settled above his ribs. She was supremely comfortable.

But she was  _not_  letting Captain America OD in the name of snuggles. “We should get you to medical, Steve. Who knows what that much THC is doing to you.”

He let out a giggle- she couldn’t describe it as anything else- and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Nope.”

–

“Hope we’re not interruptin’ anythin’.”

Darcy jerked her head up from Steve’s chest; his steady heartbeat had lulled her into a doze. One warm hand was still stroking up and down her back.

Barnes and Wilson were standing at the kitchen counter, looking like they were just in from a run or something. Well, she assumed a run; Bucky was dewy with sweat, and Sam was dripping with it.

Darcy went to sit up, but the weight of Steve’s hand encouraged her to stay plastered against him. “Barnes! Barnes- help.”

“You look pretty comfy there, Darce. Don’t think you need my help.” One of Bucky’s rare grins made an appearance, and he turned away to take the glass of water Sam was holding out for him.

“I do, though. He ate an entire pan of pot brownies, and he refuses to let me take him to medical. We have been on the couch for the last half hour.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, a look which was familiar to everyone. “A half hour, huh? Hate to break it to you, doll, but it’s mostly worn off by now.”

Steve’s hand paused in its path on her back.

Sam, from deep in the fridge, laughed. “Busted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the women of my knitting group, who, knowing nothing about the fandom besides the source material, helped me out by telling me I should write Steve high af for this prompt.


	9. Dumpster Meet-Cute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [ChrissiHR](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrissiHR/pseuds/ChrissiHR) when she was feelin' sick.
> 
> I used a prompt from [OopsPrompts](https://oopsprompts.tumblr.com/) for this bit of Clint/Darcy silliness.

Darcy bent over the hot guy who, admittedly, didn’t look so hot. He’d plummeted into the dumpster next to her favorite Chinese restaurant, and she could only hope the old potstickers and egg fu young broke his fall. “Did it hurt?”

“Yes.”

She pursed her lips against a grin. “You didn’t even wait for the ‘when you fell from heaven’ part.”

“Everything hurts.”

“I can imagine.” Darcy eyed the split lip and bruising along his temple. He was covered in old blood, or maybe that was hoisin sauce.

Then she caught sight of the fancy-looking recurve bow half-hidden underneath the guy, who was still about three orders of magnitude hotter than any other man she’d seen in a dumpster. A second look at his stained clothes twigged her to his identity.

“Hey, you’re Clint, right? Clint Barton?” Before he could do more than tense up, she added, “I’m Darcy Lewis, I work with Jane Foster?”

He groaned as he hauled himself up to the edge of the dumpster. “New Mexico? Thor?”

“Yeah. Thor said you’re one of the Avengers, when you’re not being a jackbooted thug for SHIELD.” Darcy considered. “Well, he didn’t say that last part. That was Jane.”

“Dr. Foster sure holds a grudge,” Clint grumbled. His bow clattered on the broken up asphalt, and he swung a leg over the dumpster’s rim.

“You have no idea,” Darcy said under her breath.

Clint toppled out of the dumpster with as much grace as he’d entered it. He wheezed a little as he pushed to his knees. “Aren’t you going to help me?”

Darcy glanced up from staring at his ass. “Me? No. You are covered in the Golden General’s lunch special, and this is my third favorite sweater.”

With a resigned sigh, he picked up a few arrows that had fallen out of his quiver, and got to his feet with another groan.

“So… is this whole falling-off-building things, like, new? Or like, part of a SHIELD gig or something?” she asked, texting Jane that she was preemptively calling in sick for the morning. When she glanced up, Clint was giving the roofline the eye. She didn’t see anything, but then again, she wasn’t an Avenger or a spy, so she went back to perusing his backside. And maybe also his shoulders. And arms.

“It’s an… old thing?” He shrugged. “I was hoping it was an old thing, anyway.”

“Do you-” she bit her lip as Clint turned to catch her ogling. “Do you need someplace to lay low? My apartment is a couple blocks from here.”

Clint’s eyes traveled over her, from boots to boobs; when he met her eyes again, it was with a definite drawl that he said, “What do you know, I am in dire need of a place I can lay. Low.”

As he half-stalked, half-limped towards her, Darcy wrinkled her nose and added, “And shower.”


	10. Ohmygod, how did I get sloppy joe inside of my pants?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma98 (wahwahwaffles on tumblr) has an amazing life that reads like fanfic. This drabble is based on Emma posting this: "Ohmygod, how did I get sloppy joe inside of my pants?"
> 
> Enjoy!

“What the ever-loving fuck?” Darcy hissed. “How did I get sloppy joe  _inside_  my pants?”

Jane lifted her head from the back of her sofa. She’d been thinking about the constellations of Asgard, and their light off golden hair. “What? Pants?”

Darcy continued, her questions clearly rhetorical. “There weren’t even sloppy joes at dinner.”

“Clint brought them. Questionable dumplings.” Mystery solved, Jane let her head loll back. Darcy had made brownies, and Jane had overindulged. They weren’t even the fun kind; they just had enough chocolate to sate a bilgesnipe. Or a god.

“I thought Clint brought the pizza?” Darcy called from her bedroom.

“Nope,” Jane popped out. The sugar crash was starting to get to her. “Sam brought those.”

“I wondered why none of them had pineapple.”

“Yeah,” Jane sighed. She loved pinapple pizza, but Sam had Opinions on the subject. “But there were piroshki, so.”

“Oh my god, yes. I could eat my weight in Wanda’s piroshki and die happy.”

Darcy emerged, fresh in a pair of Thor-print leggings and a knockoff Hawkguy sweatshirt, and flopped onto the next cushion. Jane didn’t think she could move off the couch until she digested a little. Avengers potlucks were no joke. If you wanted to eat your own weight in piroshki, you could- if you were willing to fight spies, soldiers, and people with telekinesis to get them.

“Did you say the funky-looking dumplings were actually sloppy joes in disguise?” Darcy poked Jane when it looked like she was falling asleep on her.

Jane gave her a weak glare. “Clint told me he made them dumplings so they wouldn’t be as sloppy. And Natasha said he made them weird-looking so no one would want them and he could take them home.”

Darcy snorted. “Didn’t Steve eat, like, half of them by himself?”

“Yeah.” Jane didn’t add that Thor probably would have loved them, too.

“Poor Clint. The best laid plans of mice.”

“And men,” Jane added with a grin.

“Oh, no, I don’t think men had much to do with it,” Darcy quoted, and they both laughed.

Jane, for all that she was getting sleepy after too much food and hours of social interaction, wasn’t completely unobservant. Darcy had abruptly dropped the whole food-in-pants topic. That in itself was suspicious, but a few moments from the potluck were arranging themselves into clues.

“Barnes was putting away those weird dumpling joes, too. Seems like they’re a supersoldier delicacy.”

Darcy  _mmhmm_ ’d and pretended her phone was riveting.

“I recall you disappeared for a while.”

“Did I?”

“I also recall Barnes engaging in a brief food fight directly after you wandered off. He said he needed to go clean up.”

Darcy didn’t say anything, but since her hair was in a messy bun, Jane could see the flush spreading down her neck.

Jane wiggled upright with a grin. “So how  _did_  you get sloppy joe on the  _inside_  of your pants?”

“Oh my god, Jane!” Darcy’s whole face was pink, but she looked away from her phone. She pressed one hand to her cheek and said, “Any chance it wasn’t totally obvious?”

Jane almost managed to look sympathetic, but her grin was too wide. She did pat Darcy’s arm, though. “There were supersoldiers, spies, and at least one telepath at the potluck, Darcy.”

Darcy rolled her eyes. “No chance?”

Jane patted her arm again. “Not a chance in Helheim.”


	11. Mechanically-Inclined!Darcy/Pietro

“There is no fucking way this will work.”

Pietro leaned over the machine, glancing at the scorch marks and frayed wires inside. “It doesn’t look so bad.”

Something in the smoldering guts sparked, and Darcy jumped back. She raised an eyebrow in Pietro’s direction. He shrugged.

Darcy and Dr. Foster had built the machine, so even if he were gifted with mechanical know-how as well as speed, he wouldn’t be able to help.  _ Stark _ couldn’t help.

“I believe in you,  _ mila _ .”

“Thanks.” She smiled and went up on her tiptoes for a kiss. Pietro couldn’t resist peppering her face with kisses too fast for her to register until he was already leaning back.

Her eyes shifted to the machine, glaring at the wisp of smoke rising from the carapace. “I have an idea.”

Shoving up the sleeves of her sweater, Darcy pulled the goggles down from her forehead and picked up a wrench. It was as long as his arm. 

She grinned and raised it over her head.


	12. After the Triskelion - Darcy/Brock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for ChrissiHR and everyone in this paddleboat ship <3
> 
> She asked for “Something after the Triskelion falls. […] [Brock] wakes up covered in bandages with Darcy bent over the bed“ 
> 
> Word Count: 1008 
> 
> Rating: G (maybe T for swears?)

“Jeez, Brock, you look like the Mummy’s Revenge.”

He knows that voice, can admit to himself he misses her, but she can’t possibly be here. His mind is playing tricks on him.

Brock can only open the one eye thanks to his bandages, but he leaves it shut anyway; the soft afternoon light through the hospital blinds is too sharp. He’d rather stay in the dark.

His entire body itches and hurts, and he doesn’t know if they’re phantom pains, or if a hundred tons of Triskelion rubble had destroyed his nerves along with leaving burns on 90% of his body.

He isn’t a stranger to pain, but this is different. He wasn’t expecting auditory hallucinations.

She isn’t here; her whole team is half a world away at some remote observatory, far from Insight and Pierce and all this Hydra shit he’d been involved in. She’s safe.

And not here. So why open his eye and ruin the fantasy?

In his mind’s eye, she’d be standing at the side of his bed with a disgustingly sweet coffee in hand, wrapped up in one of her chunky handknits, hair all glossy. She’d look up from her phone, glasses perfectly straight on her nose, and a curl at the corner of her mouth just for him.

It’s a good fantasy. And a good distraction from hearing the soft susurration of his oxygen line and thinking it was the rustle of her coat.

“I know you’re awake, asshole. Your nurse said you refused the good pain killers.”

He cracks an eye open, bracing for the stabbing pain of light, and sees her.

Darcy’s face is pale and she doesn’t look anything like he’d expected. Her hair is tangled, pulled up into a knot and not glossy at all, though her cheeks are shiny. Wet. That scarf is the one she’d knit him and constantly stolen because it “smelled like him.” She clutches a coffee, just like he’d thought, but it’s a styrofoam cup from the vending machine down the hall and not some Starbucks bullshit like she prefers. Her phone is in her other hand, fingers white around the case. She looks tired behind her glasses, and like the most beautiful thing he’s seen in his life.

What  _he_ looks like doesn’t bear thinking about, though. “Mummy’s Revenge” is probably a bit of flattery, all things considered.

His throat hardly works from the burns, but he croaks, “Aren’t ya gonna kiss me hello, Lewis?”

A tension goes out of her shoulders and she bends to him, that smile faintly curling. Her phone clinks on the rail of his bed as she braces herself.

Before her lips come down, Brock feels the soft wind of her breath against his mouth, and then she’s there, a gentle press, hardly anything, and the only thing going through Brock’s head is,

_She’s real. She’s real._

His sense of smell is completely gone, they’d told him, but he still catches a breath of the vanilla body lotion she uses. Her lips are slightly chapped, and he can  _feel_ her.

This close, he can see how Darcy’s eyelashes are clumped with tears. The edge of her glasses presses the bridge of his nose in a way that he knows should hurt but doesn’t.

Darcy pulls back just enough to look at the sliver of face not covered in gauze, and says, “Love you.”

Brock’s eye squeezes shut, and his skin doesn’t raise gooseflesh, but his brain says it should.

“Love you, too,  _dusci_.”

She hides her smile against his lips, presses another kiss into the patch of skin at the corner of his mouth, where he isn’t burned. Her lips catch on his stubble.

Darcy shifts back and lifts her phone, that set to her jaw that means trouble. “Alright, babe, let’s get you out of here.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed,” he rasps, wiggling his least injured wrist to get her attention, “’m sorta stuck here.” Not that he wouldn’t drag himself out of this god-forsaken bed if she so much as crooked her little finger, debilitating burns or no.

Darcy levels him the Stare. She gives the Stare to every man who says something idiotic in her presence. He got the Stare a lot when he was trying to hit on her, once upon a time. “You know I know Helen Cho, right?”

“Who?”

Her eyes are already glued to her phone again, but she’s typing with one hand, the other resting on his bedding next to his wrapped-up mitt. Her coffee cup is balanced on top of his heart monitor.

“Genius geneticist, invented the Cradle that fixes basically all injuries and accidentally helped make that crazy Stark robot into a Real Boy?” She glances up when Brock draws a breath. “And if you’re about to tell me that’s classified, I know one of your buddies has already paid a visit and told you Black Widow dumped all of SHIELD’s secrets on the internet. I spent my flights reading.”

Black Widow. He’d forgotten. All his missions, for SHIELD  _and_ for Hydra, his files, his reports- all out there for public consumption. Everything he’d  _done_. And Darcy had read them.

“She’s got a science boner for Jane,” Darcy continued, glancing back down at her phone, pretending she couldn’t read  _him_ like a book. “And a crush on Thor, though we’re pretty sure it’s more because she heard about the Asgardian Soul Forge and wants to get her hands on one.”

Darcy mashes her finger onto her phone screen with finality and gives him a blazing smile that lances straight to his heart and makes his one good eye water. “We’re going to get you to Helen, get you healed up, and then I’m going to be mad at you for agreeing to go undercover and join a secret Nazi organization, okay?”

His mouth is practically the only part of him not swaddled in gauze, so she definitely catches the grin working its way onto his face when he answers, “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know eyesight can be blurry after facial burns (your eyes can be damaged just like the rest of you!), so I took some liberty with Brock’s injuries for dramatic effect.
> 
>  _dusci_ is Sicilian for “sweet” and also coincidentally sounds a little like “Darcy,” and I’m here for Brock being of Sicilian origin.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [Tumblr!](http://zephrbabe.tumblr.com/)


End file.
